


Intervention

by grey2510



Series: The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e06 Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox, Post-Episode: s12e10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets, Round 4, Season/Series 12, Should I tag MCD if it's a pie?, The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt, Third Wheel Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:51:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9632408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: “Bickering like an old married couple.” Sam is really starting to hate that phrase because he lives it. And he's really tired of being the third wheel to Dean and Cas. Luckily, Sam has other people he can turn to.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mittensmorgul/Mittenwraith's The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt, Round 4.
> 
> Our tropes for this round:  
> \- Love Makes You Dumb  
> \- Sam is a third wheel

“Bickering like an old married couple.”

Sam is _really_ starting to hate that phrase because he _lives_ it. He’d thought— _hoped_ —the silent treatment crap was over once they got back from the Lily Sunder fiasco of a case. To be fair, it had gotten better for awhile, after he and Dean had sat Cas down and told him that he was important and a good person. It was a conversation they probably should have had a long time ago, and yeah, Sam could try and rationalize it and say there’s always been too much going on, but, truth is, sometimes he and Dean get wrapped up in their own shit and don’t look around at what’s going on with anyone else. He makes a promise to himself to try better about that. Except, where Cas is concerned, that will probably have to wait until Dean and Cas stop getting too wrapped up in _their_ shit to notice that Sam is weeping internally on a daily basis because they just. won’t. stop.

Cas leaves dirty coffee mugs in the library. Dean gets pissy.

Dean listens to his music too loud in the car. Cas gets pissy.

Cas refuses to just take a break after Ishim drained him of power. Dean gets pissy.

Dean tells Cas he can’t come on a hunt because he’s not 100% yet. Cas gets pissy.

...and comes anyway.

Which is where they are now, on a hunt, waiting for Eileen to give them the signal to come into the office building they’re staking out and give her backup on these shifters; Eileen’s in there undercover as a particularly dedicated temp working late, an alias she’d been using all week before realizing the one shifter she’d been hunting is actually at least three, at which point she’d texted them for reinforcements.

Sam has given up trying to get Dean and Cas to talk or act like rational human beings (or human-shaped beings), and he’s not even going to wade into the discussion of whether or not Cas is up to the hunt, although, personally, he thinks Cas is doing just fine, all things considered. Cas had tried to explain the difficulties of powering up again ever since Heaven closed its doors during the Amara showdown, and how that doesn’t mean that he can’t use his powers anymore or that he’s injured, but all Dean had heard was “vulnerable", even if that word never actually left Cas’ mouth, and yeah...everyone knows how that story goes when it comes to Dean and someone he cares about.

Right now, they’re just sitting in the Impala, staring at the office building in awkward silence. Sam rolls down the window, despite the cold, just to hear the sounds of life out there. There isn’t much noise in the parking lot of a small town office park by nine at night, but he can hear a train off in the distance and the hum of generators. His phone vibrates in his pocket.

> EILEEN: 2 here now dunno about 3rd
> 
> SAM: Should we come in now
> 
> EILEEN: Back door, I’ll let you in

“We on the move?” Dean asks with a look at Sam’s phone.

“Yep.”

And they silently climb out of the car, drawing weapons but keeping them low and mostly concealed. Silver bullets in guns, silver knives in easy reach.

They approach the door, Sam taking point (if only to put as much distance between himself and the Bickersons). He’s at the door, which is suspiciously ajar, and waiting by the jamb, just about to open the door carefully in case anyone is inside, when he hears Dean start up again.

“Cas, you hang back and—"

The words get cut off and Sam turns at the all-too familiar sounds of a fight: footsteps, bodily thuds, an oomph of air from an elbowed gut: one of the shapeshifters must have been in an alcove down near the giant air conditioning unit, and it had come right up behind Dean, who makes a strangled noise as it cuts off his air supply with a thick, gnarly hand around Dean’s throat from behind. Dean picks up his feet for half a second, forcing the shifter to lose balance and stumble forward; Dean rolls the shifter up over his back and shoulder and onto the ground, and Cas shoves his angel blade right through the shifter’s heart as it—he, Sam supposes, as it’s currently in the form of one of the security guards—tries to regain its breath.

Cas casually wipes shifter goo off his blade onto the shifter’s shirt, then stands up, his face hard. “You were saying, Dean?” And Sam’s pretty sure there’s even the slightest hint of an eyebrow raise.   

Dean massages his throat, coughs a little, and nods. “Heh, yeah, Cas. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Hmm.” Cas casts a critical eye over Dean, as though assessing him for damage. “Well, since I’m so weakened as to be nearly useless, I guess you’ll just have to suffer through the sore throat.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Really, guys you’re gonna do this now?”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean rasps out. “Cas, that’s not what I meant. I just—"

Whatever Dean says next, Sam misses because his phone vibrates again, and he pulls it out of his pocket just far enough to see that Eileen is _calling_. There’s only one reason she would bother using the call function…

Without waiting for Dean and Cas to sort out their schoolyard drama, Sam wrenches open the door and darts inside. “Guys, let’s go!” he calls back. From his pocket, he can hear Eileen’s voice over the speaker, shouting, though he can’t quite make out the words.

“Whoa, Sammy!” Dean answers, but Sam can hear Dean and Cas’ footfalls behind him on the hard, ugly beige carpet.

Further down the hall come the sounds of crashing furniture and pained grunts, and when Sam turns the corner, he finds two Eileens locked in a struggle. A third person—a middle aged woman with steel grey hair, frazzled in her pantsuit...and with a strip of slimy skin hanging from one arm—looks like she’s just waiting to get tagged back into the fight. 

It all happens in about two seconds, though it seems like longer.

The power suit shifter attacks him just as he’s getting a shot off, knocking his arm and the bullet astray. The gun clatters to the floor as he stumbles back, but he bucks the shifter off of him, giving him space to draw his knife. But Dean and Cas catch up in that moment, and so he turns his attention to the two Eileens while Cas and Dean deal with the power suit.

He notices Eileen’s phone on the ground by their feet, still calling Sam’s phone, and he wishes he had his own camera app up and running, to see which of the Eileens has glowing eyes. One of them shoves the other back against the wall, allowing her the chance to scrabble up a silver knife from the floor and attack the cornered Eileen. The approaching Eileen is glowering at her mirror image. Sam’s brain is about to short circuit, unsure whether to cheer on the Eileen with the knife or tackle her to the ground.

Oh a whim, and unsure if the theory will work, he shouts, “Hey!”

The Eileen with the knife turns at the shout, while the one against the wall only looks in his direction when her attacker turns. And that’s enough of a cue for Sam: he charges at the shifter, forcing her to the ground and the knife just out of reach. The real Eileen steps forward, putting a boot on the shifter’s wrist and picking up the knife while Sam kills the monster with a move not dissimilar to the one Cas pulled outside with the guard.

With all the shifters dead, Sam rocks back on his knees onto his toes. Smiling, Eileen reaches down a hand to help him up, even though he’s more liable to drag her down, given their relative weights. But the hand she offers is strong, and he’s on his feet in a second.

“Are you ok?” he says, enunciating more clearly than he probably would normally.

She nods. “Took you long enough to get here.”

Sam glances behind him where Dean and Cas are—well, not staring soulfully into each other’s eyes, but close enough. Apparently killing shifters together heals all wounds. Who knew. He turns back to Eileen and sighs. “Been that kind of day.”

 

 

* * *

  

> EILEEN: Ever hunt a soul eater?
> 
> SAM: Yeah they’re awful. You got one?
> 
> EILEEN: Think so...2 vics in comas, handprint bruises on legs, etc
> 
> EILEEN: Got a sigil to trap it but is that enough?
> 
> SAM: We have a sigil to kill them but you need two people
> 
> SAM: One has to go into the nest
> 
> EILEEN: Fun fun
> 
> SAM: You working with anyone?
> 
> EILEEN: You know me...
> 
> EILEEN: I’m in Sante Fe
> 
> SAM: In Arkansas but Dean and Cas can finish this
> 
> SAM: Just an actual salt and burn for once
> 
> EILEEN: You know you jinxed it, right? Never just a salt and burn
> 
> SAM: Now you sound like Dean
> 
> EILEEN: Your brother’s a wise individual :P
> 
> SAM: ...yeah, wise...
> 
> SAM: ;)
> 
> SAM: It is an easy case though. Just waiting till dark to dig up the grave
> 
> EILEEN: Waiting with Cas and Dean…
> 
> EILEEN: Sounds like a blast
> 
> SAM: Ugh don’t get me started. I thought the bickering was bad…
> 
> EILEEN: Lol
> 
> SAM: If you put up the trap sigil for now, we can do the other when I get there
> 
> EILEEN: You sure?
> 
> SAM: Soul eater nest vs. front row seats to 24/7 longing stares and mutual pining? No contest
> 
> SAM: Be there in 12 hrs

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been two weeks since the soul eater nest, and things have been fairly quiet on all fronts. While Sam’s appreciative of the break, he also feels that after six weeks of forced inactivity, he should be doing _something_. But right now, they’re just spinning their wheels on the nephilim case.

As he makes his way into the library balancing a coffee mug, a bowl of soup, and his laptop, Sam randomly thinks of his freshman roommate at Stanford, Ryland, who had always used his marching band roll step, learned in high school, in the dining hall to never spill a drop from his overloaded tray (and then he’d sigh wistfully about how the Stanford Band doesn’t actually march...as if Ryland hadn’t fully embraced the notoriously raucous scatter band lifestyle). While a lifetime of hunting has made Sam relatively graceful on his feet—especially given his size—he doesn’t think he ever could have mastered that kind of smoothness of gait.

But, regardless, he makes it to the table with only a single splash of soup finding its way over the lip of the bowl, and it ends up on his thumb and not his laptop or one of the library’s books. He settles in at the table closest to the Bunker entrance, and flips open his laptop. For now, he’s ignoring the Kelly Kline case boards; instead, Sam’s going to catch up on real people news while he eats his lunch, or maybe stream an episode of something not dark and depressing on Netflix, before getting back to research.

His phone rings when he’s halfway through an episode of _Arrested Development_ —because apparently the random memory of Ryland has brought with it a wave of nostalgia for all things Stanford, and the sitcom was one he and Jess had watched together; there’s still a pull at his heart when he thinks of Jess, but it’s less sharp now, and he can at least remember and enjoy those memories in a way he couldn’t when the grief was too new. He pauses the show and answers.

“Max?”

“Hey, Sam. Man, good to hear your voice—heard you were MIA for awhile.”

Sam shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat at the thought of the prison, but he knows Max won’t pry. “Yeah, but we’re back now. All good.” He clears his throat. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Just wondering if you could help us out with a case. Might need some resources from that fabulous Bunker of yours we’re always hearing about through the grapevine.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. What do you need?

There’s a shuffling on the other end, and before Sam knows it, Alicia’s voice is coming through as well. “Hey, Sam.”

“Hi, Alicia.”

“We think we have a bloodline curse in this town in Louisiana. Got anything that could help?”

Sam pushes back his chair and heads towards the section of the library with curses—one that he’s unfortunately very familiar with, especially after Dean’s stint with the Mark. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Fifteen minutes later, Sam’s gone through the section, and the one on blood magic and bloodlines, and picked out the books that might be helpful and returned the ones that Max and Alicia say they already have or aren’t the kind of magic they’re looking for; Sam defaults to their expertise in the matter. He does, however, come across a tome on angelic bloodlines—written mostly in Enochian, of course, because it can never just be easy—and he sets it on the table for later. Who knows, it might help with tracking down Lucifer’s kid.

Hanging up with Max and Alicia, he wanders through the Bunker in search of Dean and Cas to see if they want to go with him to help out on the case. He frowns as he checks Dean’s room, Cas’ room, the kitchen, the gun range—no brother or angel to be found. As he comes out of the gun range, however, he hears the very faint sound of voices from down the hall, in the direction of the gym. Considering Cas is an angel and Dean hates working out except for his perfunctory once or twice a week ‘I want to survive my next hunt’ sessions, the gym certainly isn’t a place Sam had even considered. As he approaches, he hears the two of them confirm exactly those assumptions.

"I have no need to work out, Dean. And I’ve been a soldier since quite literally the dawn of time.”

“Well, bully for you, Cas,” Dean retorts, but to Sam’s ears he sounds resignedly amused. “Not all of us got mojo and I’d rather not end up wendigo chow. C’mon.”

A series of soft thuds comes down the hall next, and Sam can only assume they’re sparring by the speed and rhythm. There’s some soft grunts, a louder thud, and then some scrabbling with the _whick whick_ of clothing on vinyl mats. Finally the movement stops; Sam wonders who won this round as he turns the corner and—

Yeah, that’s not sparring.

Sam feels frozen in horror, and some absent corner of his mind is thankful that neither Dean nor Cas notices him in the doorway. Cas has Dean pinned on the ground, though Sam doesn’t think Cas is trying too hard; either Cas is using his angelic strength to keep Dean down without looking like he’s putting in any effort, or Dean doesn’t mind being pinned because he looks like he could, if he wanted, buck Cas right off of him.

The two of them are staring at each other dead in the eye, Dean looking up in almost wonder and Cas looking down with what Sam would swear is a self-satisfied smirk.

“C-Cas—" Dean chokes out, his eyes never leaving the angel’s.

And Sam backs out very, very quickly.     

Back in the library, he tears a page out of his notebook, scribbles a note to Dean and Cas about the case and where he’s going, tucks it under the Enochian book so it doesn’t flutter away, and gets ready to head out. He takes only half a second to decide between the Impala and Cas’ truck (as cool as the Men of Letters’ cars are, Dean has established that only one or two may be still driveable without some serious work, and even then, the cars are far too noticeable to use regularly in Lebanon; even the Impala’s a stretch), and he tosses his duffel full of books on Baby’s backseat. If Dean wants to go somewhere, he can use Cas’ truck. Sam gives the engine a moment to warm up, and takes the opportunity, now that his brain is over the immediate trauma of whatever that was in the gym, to send a text. 

> SAM: You’re not gonna believe what I just walked in on
> 
> EILEEN: Whoa Dean might not be my brother but that doesn’t mean I want details either
> 
> SAM: How’d you know that’s what I was gonna say?
> 
> EILEEN: ...soul eater vs. pining, remember?
> 
> SAM: Touche
> 
> SAM: I’m heading to a case in Louisiana...what’re you up to?
> 
> EILEEN: In Colorado, was thinking of swinging down to Kansas to visit Mildred
> 
> SAM: Nice. Meet up when I’m back?
> 
> EILEEN: Do I finally get to see your secret hideout?
> 
> SAM: Definitely. Let you know when I’m back in KS
> 
> SAM: Say hi to Mildred for me
> 
> EILEEN: She’d probably rather hear that from Dean ;) But I will!

 

 

"That’s some fine work,” Max says as Sam finishes up painting the curse-breaking warding above the door of the town community center/part-time coven meeting place (apparently).

Sam sinks back to his heels and checks the symbol against the paper in his left hand, his right hand currently occupied with a paint brush. “Uh, thanks,” he replies, not really paying attention to Max’s comment, although the tone niggles at the back of his mind. “That look right to you?”

“Looks more than alright.” _Whack._ “Hey!”

Sam spins to find Alicia giving her brother a raised brow, and judging from Max grabbing his upper arm, he can only assume the whack came from her. “You ok?”

Neither twin answers him right away; Alicia admonishes her brother instead. “Quit it already.”

“Fiiine,” Max sighs out, looking not at all contrite. “Sorry,” he says to Sam. “And yes, the spellwork is fine, too.”

For a second, Sam blinks, confused, until all the pieces click together and his subconscious finally puts a name to Max’s tone earlier: flirtatious. “Oh, uh, don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but—"

“Alicia’s got better luck?” Max finishes for him. His sister just rolls her eyes, and Sam is relieved that he clearly won’t have to try and let both twins down easy.

He gives a half-grin. “Ah, normally, yeah, but…" _There’s someone else?_ He’s not sure he and Eileen really count as anything more yet, though he thinks he’d like it if things were headed in that direction. He’s also not too sure Eileen would appreciate him speaking for her to relative strangers.

Luckily, he’s saved from having to explain himself further by Alicia, as she crosses the room to set up the cleansing ritual the three of them are going to perform on behalf of the Theriot family and their future descendants.

“Toldja, Max, you’d have better luck with the other brother.”

Sam’s jaw drops and suddenly he is _so_ glad Dean isn’t here.

“And I told _you_ , dear sister, that if the stories are true,” Max rejoins, looking to Sam for confirmation, “the other Winchester aims a little higher than us mere mortal humans.”

“What?” Sam manages to stammer out, and of course his memory takes the opportunity to bombard him with images of Dean and Cas, notably their “sparring session" yesterday morning. Brain bleach. That’s what needs. By the gallon.

Alicia smirks, placing two white candles next to a bowl. “That’s right. You guys aren’t up on all the hunter water cooler—"

“More like beer cooler,” Max mutters as he digs through their supplies for herbs.

“—gossip. Because most of us aren’t Elvis Katzs, may he rest in peace.”

Sam sets down the brush on top of the paint can. “What exactly do people say about us?”

The twins exchange a look, silently communicating in a way that Sam relates to all too well after a lifetime of him and Dean living out each other’s pockets.

“Uh, some good, some bad,” Max deflects.

Alicia chimes in, “Some ridiculous. Like,” she pauses, looking a little guilty, “like, ok, there’s a phrase people use: ‘pulling a Winchester.’”

“‘Pulling a Winchester?’” Sam asks.

“Yeah, like if everyone thinks someone’s dead and no one hears from them for awhile, but they’re not dead,” Max shrugs apologetically. “Oh, and speaking of, tell your mom thanks again for saving our asses on that case.”

Sam does his best to mask his surprise. “Uh, sure.” One more family secret. Great. “You do know that we’ve actually, um, died and come back, right?”

Another look between the siblings. “Yeah, but not everyone believes it,” Alicia admits. Clearly looking to redirect the conversation from those murky waters, she brightens up and adds, “Or, like people will say someone’s ‘pulled a Winchester’ if they’re talking out of their ass, saying they’ve done something totally ridiculous. Because seriously, the _stories_ we hear...”

Max nods. “Yeah, like, ‘Oh sorry I couldn’t make it, I was having tea and crumpets with God.’”

The twins look at Sam with hopeful grins, obviously waiting for him to join in on the joke. Sam can only stare for a second before the absolute absurdity of this conversation—hell, his whole _life_ —makes him crack a smile. “Uh, no tea and crumpets. But God does make decent pancakes.”

“Wait, what?!” both siblings exclaim.

And so the rest of the case, in between spell chanting, Sam sets about to clear up some rumors about the elusive and legendary Winchesters.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Sam turns onto the access road leading up to the Bunker, he sees a familiar Jeep parked on the side. Eileen’s leaning against the passenger door, ankles crossed, hands in her pockets against the cold March wind. He pulls the Impala over, throwing her into park, and gets out to greet the other hunter.

“Hey, you made it,” he says as Eileen steps forward for a hug.

“Just got here,” she confirms when they separate.

“How are you?” he signs. He doesn’t know much ASL yet, but he’s been trying to get back into the language with video tutorials.

Eileen beams and signs, far more deftly, “I’m good. How are you?”

“Tired,” he admits.

She laughs. “Same. So, lead the way? GPS only got so far before it was blocked.”

“Yeah, Men of Letters were ahead of the times. C’mon.”

They get back into their respective cars and Sam leads them through the tunnel to the garage, Baby taking her usual spot in the center, and Eileen’s Jeep finding room in an empty bay next to the classic cars. As they walk into the Bunker, Sam tentatively puts a hand just above the small of Eileen’s back, worried that he’s crossing a line. She doesn’t seem to mind, however, and smiles up at him.

Dean must have heard the door closes or their footsteps or something because he’s already calling out from the kitchen ahead of them, “Sammy, that better be you, and if you take Baby without asking again, I swear to fucking God, I’ll—” His brother’s whole demeanor changes, however, when Sam and Eileen enter the room. “Oh. Hey, Eileen. Didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

He smiles at her, but then shoots a look over her shoulder, one that Sam interprets as, _We are so talking about this later_ , to which Sam replies with a silent, _What the fuck is your problem?_

Jeez, he thought Dean liked Eileen, and it’s not like Sam needs his brother’s permission to bring someone back to the Bunker, especially not another hunter they trust, and a Men of Letters legacy to boot, and screw Dean, but Sam thinks he deserves a...friend. You don’t see Sam complaining about Cas—

Ok, that’s unfair, he’ll admit. Cas is Sam’s best friend. But his point still stands about Eileen.

Thankfully, the rest of the evening passes without incident, well regarding Eileen, at least. They show her around the Bunker, and she’s fascinated by some of their old records, even finding an old sepia-colored photograph of the 1939 Men of Letters Induction, with her grandfather looking seriously out at them from behind a fairly impressive beard. Sam offers her a room in the Bunker to stay for the night—Dean mutters something about Sam and Sam’s room that’s luckily out of Eileen’s line of sight and which Sam pretends he doesn’t hear—but Eileen declines, saying she’s heading east to help an old contact in Delaware. But, she does stay for the afternoon and for dinner.

Dean, of course, takes point on the actual cooking, nearly banishing everyone else from the kitchen, until all of them point out that they’re not totally useless. Grumbling, Dean puts Sam in charge of "the rabbit food, since Samantha’s the one who’s gonna eat it anyway". Eileen offers to help, and together they cobble together a pretty decent salad, chopping vegetables companionably at the island. They also exchange commiserating smiles and eye rolls when Dean teaches Cas, with probably far more “hands on" modeling than normal, the perfect way to shape a burger patty for grilling.

Sam and Eileen take the dishes into the kitchen after eating in the library, and Eileen offers to help clean, but Sam says they’ll get to it later. Besides, Dean has a system and if anyone puts anything back in the wrong place, there’ll be hell to pay.

“And bring out the pie!” Dean calls after them as they go.

“I’m not gonna forget your damn pie!” Sam retorts.

They pile up the dishes and empty beer bottles in the sink, then grab four more beers and the pie Dean had bought from the fridge.

“So you’re sure you and your friend in Delaware don’t need back up?” Sam asks as they near the library.

Eileen shakes her head with a small shrug. “I don’t think so. She just wants to move some curse boxes to better storage.”

She turns back in the direction she’s walking, Sam a step behind her, and he looks down for just a second to readjust his grip on the pie and plates. Consequently, he doesn’t even realize that Eileen has stopped short in the doorway.

The pie and plates splat and crash to the floor as he nearly knocks her over. In the library, Dean and Cas spring apart from where they’d been apparently sitting next to each other on the table, likely with the pretense of studying the case boards.

“Oh, shit! Sorry, Eileen!” Sam says, completely forgetting for the moment that she can’t hear him. She spins back to face him, her eyes wide and almost guilty. Sam recognizes that look—he’s pretty sure he was wearing it when he nearly walked into the gym that day, and he's not all that sorry he missed whatever it was Dean and Cas were doing.

“Sam, what—fuck, not the pie!” Dean bemoans.

 

 

* * *

 

  

 _Knock knock._ Sam gets up from his bed, setting his book aside, and opens the door, though he knows who he’ll find on the other side; Dean’s knock is far more...can a knock be presumptuous?

“Hey, Cas, what’s up?” he asks, letting the door swing wide in silent invitation.

Cas, however, fidgets uncharacteristically at the entrance. “Dean and I were wondering if you would want to do a ‘movie marathon’.”

Sam gives his friend a sardonic grin. “So, Dean sent you to ask if you could use my TV because he thought I’d say no if he asked?”

“No?”

Rolling his eyes at Cas’ poor lie, Sam lets out a small chuckle. “Yeah, that’s cool. What’re we marathoning?”

“ _Lord of the Rings_ , obviously,” Dean announces from the hallway. He enters the room laden with beers, popcorn, and DVDs.

“Dude, that’s like nine hours,” Sam grumbles.

Dean waggles his eyebrows. “Extended editions, Sammy!”

“Fine,” he sighs. “But I’m hitting the bathroom first.”

Rookie mistake, Sam realizes when he comes back, because of course Dean and Cas have settled themselves on the bed. The bed where _Sam_ sleeps. The bed where _Sam_ had intended to relax. _Sam’s_ bed.

Whatever. Sam grabs the chair from his desk and swings it around so he can rest his arms on the top of the back, and he’s slightly mollified when Cas hands Sam his own, smaller bowl of popcorn that he doesn’t have to share, and a beer with the cap already popped off.

He’s less mollified, however, when it becomes increasingly obvious that if this were a dark movie theater and his brother and Cas were teenagers, things would be getting more than PG. First it’s Cas scooting closer to Dean—ostensibly to better reach the popcorn bowl on Dean’s lap (and don’t think Sam doesn’t get the rationale for _that_ , especially when the bowl could theoretically sit quite comfortably between them).

Then, it’s Dean constantly leaning in to half-whisper some trivia about the books that they’ve left out of the film (Sam didn’t even know Dean had _read_ the books) or how the movie was made (just how many of the extra features has Dean watched? And Dean says that _Sam_ is the nerd in the family...). Cas doesn’t even bother to protest that technically he already knows what’s happened in the books, and instead he just tilts his head towards Dean to better hear, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

Next, just as Frodo tells everyone he’ll take the ring to Mordor (Sam makes a mental note to remember that line for the next time Dean and Cas get into one of their epic bickering bouts), Cas reaches into the bowl, only to discover there’s no more popcorn left. But he doesn’t take his hand completely out of the bowl, letting it rest instead on the lip. Dean’s hand, Sam notices—and god, he’s never wanted to be able to just focus on hobbits and elves more in his life—is just below Cas’, holding the bowl. Sam can’t quite tell, but he’s about 90% sure their hands are actually touching.

This is going to be a _long_ however many hours…

Sam breathes a sigh of relief when his phone goes off sometime later with a message notification. Maybe someone needs something killed, somewhere far, far away from here… 

> EILEEN: I have a hunt
> 
> SAM: Yeah? Can I help?
> 
> EILEEN: Maybe. On a hunt for some decent conversation, a nice meal at a restaurant (that’s not a diner), good company...
> 
> EILEEN: Heard of anything like that? ;)
> 
> SAM: I’ve heard they’re pretty rare, but I think we’re pretty good hunting team...we’ll find it :)
> 
> EILEEN: :D

She texts him an address and a time, and Sam gets up from the chair.

“You’re going to have to finish without me,” he announces to the room at large. And Dean, despite his ‘we’ll pause when we’re dead!’ rule, freezes the film just as Samwise nearly drowns trying to get to Frodo’s canoe.

“What? Where’re you going?” Dean demands.

“Out. With Eileen.”

“Oh, tell her we say ‘hello,’” Cas says with such ease that one would think he’s always been human and playing by the rules of social niceties. Dean blinks in surprise and Sam bites back the urge to comment on his friend’s choice of pronoun.

With a petulant frown, Dean settles back against the headboard, grumpily muttering something about how at least _some_ Sams don’t abandon their friends.

“I’m not a hobbit, Dean.”

“Obviously, Sasquatch.”

Dean backhandedly throws a pillow in Sam’s general direction, which Sam avoids simply by leaning to the left and letting it thwack against the bare concrete wall. He smirks when Dean realizes that he’s now a pillow short from optimum comfort on the bed. Serves him right, the jerk.

“Yeah, whatever, fine. Go see your girl.”

“She’s not—" Sam stops, not really looking to get into a discussion of relationship labels. It’s one dinner, and while it's clearly a date, Sam’s not presuming anything else. Instead, he grabs his jacket from the hook behind the door and checks his pocket for his wallet while simultaneously catching the keys Dean tosses him on pure instinct and muscle memory. “Thanks,” he says, jingling them.

"Treat her right."

Sam frowns. "...you're not talking about Eileen, are you?"

Dean's look is steady. "You don't treat Eileen right, she'll kick your ass on her own. Don't treat Baby right,  _I'll_ kick your ass."

"Yes, you're very intimidating," Cas deadpans for Sam, whose jaw drops along with Dean's. Sam recovers first, fighting back a chuckle while Dean looks utterly betrayed. Meanwhile, Cas just takes the remote calmly from Dean’s hand to resume the film. Sam’s barely out the door and it’s like Dean and Cas have already forgotten he was there to begin with.

“My bed better be ok when I get back!” he warns as he leaves. He’s not sure either of them hear him, but he really really _really_ does not want to do laundry and/or burn a mattress when he returns. Then again, maybe this is a good excuse to finally get something to sleep on that's not as hard as a rock.

 

 

When Sam gets back much later that night, still grinning from dinner, he finds a bright green Post-It on his door:

 

> _Don’t worry, Princess Samantha — we cleaned up all the popcorn crumbs_

 

Yeah, because popcorn was his real concern.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Sammy, we gotta talk.” Dean plunks down into one of the chairs across from Sam; Cas takes the other.

“Uh…" Sam says over the top of his computer screen. “About? We get a hit on the nephilim case?”

“No,” Cas sighs with remorse. “Nothing has turned up.”

Dean leans forward on his forearms. “No, Sammy. We gotta talk about how your head isn’t in the game anymore.”

“What?” Sam shuts his laptop. “What do you mean? I’ve been researching—"

“We’re concerned,” Cas adds, and suddenly Sam understands all the sitcoms he’s ever seen where Mom and Dad sit down their troubled teen and give the kid a stern talking to, and suddenly Sam wishes he _didn’t_ understand all those sitcoms.

Dean nods at Cas’ comment. “You’ve been distracted, Sam. Now, don’t get me wrong, Eileen’s nice and all, but—”

“This is about _Eileen?_ ” Sam interjects, but Dean steamrolls right over that.

"—ever since you two started doing whatever it is you do, you’ve been flaky.”

“Flaky?” He doesn’t even bother to try and keep the frustration from his voice. “Wait, is this a freaking intervention? What’re you gonna call Mom in on this? Get Jody to come over and read me a letter? I’m allowed to have friends, Dean! And she’s a _hunter._ ”

“It’s not an intervention,” Cas frowns.

“Just because she’s a hunter and you like her, doesn’t mean you get to be stupid about it!” Dean argues, and starts ticking off Sam’s apparent many sins with his fingers. “Rushing headlong into a room fulla shifters just to save your girl, ditching me ‘n Cas _in the middle of a case_ —"

“It was a salt and burn, Dean, and you _know_ soul eaters need two people to kill. She needed back up.”

“—sneaking off to do magic or hunt Lucifer’s kiddo or whatever the hell you were doing—woulda thought _Ruby_ woulda been enough of a lesson there—"

“Whoa, back up. Ruby? Really, Dean?” Sam glares. “First of all, that fucking _years_ ago. Second of all, I wasn’t _sneaking_ anywhere: I left you a note. And, it wasn’t even a case with Eileen! That was for Max and Alicia! Eileen and I met up later!”

“Who’re Max and Alicia?” Cas wonders.

“Witches,” Dean explains. “And that doesn’t make it better, Sam!”

“Oh, c’mon, they’re the good guys and you know it.” Sam crosses his arms tight across his chest.

“You dropped the pie, Sam!” Dean blurts, because of _course_ that’s the worst sin of them all. “Bad enough you leave in the middle of family bonding to go have dinner or whatever, but you dropped _my_ pie 'cause you were too busy makin’ eyes at the cute hunter!”

“You think she’s cute?” Cas asks, and oh for fuck’s sake, is that _jealousy?_

Sam hates his life.

Dean rolls his eyes. “That’s not—no! I mean, objectively, sure. Whatever, not the point.” He rounds back on Sam. “My point is, I gotta know you’ve got my back, and Cas’ back, hundred percent. No distractions.”

“No distractions, really?” Sam huffs an indignant laugh. He’s had enough. Pushing back his chair, he stands. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean scowls.

“You really wanna know why I’ve been spending so much time with Eileen? Other than the fact that I might like her?” Neither Dean nor Cas answers, but Sam wasn’t really expecting them to. “Because I’m tired of being the fucking third wheel with you two!”

“Wait, what?” Dean stammers.

“I don’t understand,” Cas says, looking between Dean and Sam with narrowed eyes.

“You know what?" Sam says. "I’m done. You two figure your shit out, all this fucking UST, and don’t take your issues out on me, or Eileen.”

And before either Dean or Cas can follow that up with any questions, Sam leaves, although he’s relieved to hear Cas say, “Your brother may have a point, Dean.”

_Fucking finally._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


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